


rephrase the question

by a financial diuretic (Shame_Account)



Series: i've seen 2 whole episodes of Suits don't ask me how lawyering works [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward First Times, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Coming In Pants, Developing Relationship, First Time, Frottage, Hair-pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Trans Male Character, first time together not first time in general for either of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6634768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shame_Account/pseuds/a%20financial%20diuretic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I mean this in the nicest and most cause-believing way possible, but – it's not like you run a six million dollar firm with an HR department breathing down our necks and a corporate ladder I'm trying to climb; if you can just confirm this isn't gonna get me unjustly fired or promoted I think we can go forward knowing we're both consenting adults and hash out the details later?"</p><p>"You're implying I can afford to fire anyone. Or promote anyone."</p><p>"Can you really afford to <em>not</em> fire Lee?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	rephrase the question

**Author's Note:**

> couple of things:
> 
> 1\. i'm sorry you had to find out this way but i am one of the most embarrassingly vanilla people on this planet outside of the watersports thing so this should be an interesting journey for us all
> 
> 2\. Alex is trans! *throws nervous confetti* uh yeah i've been kind of thinking of him as trans from the beginning, because this was originally only going to be That One Story and it's always more comfortable to write from that POV for me (especially when writing something that, uh, self-indulgent *coughs*) and it was easy enough to leave vague in that one? i wanted to keep leaving it up to interpretation but it turns out that's. kind of hard to do when there is sex and responsible relationship talks involved sO i hope everyone's cool with this

Alex does in fact have a list.

"Okay, item number one," he says, as soon as George's door is securely locked behind them (and George has never walked home so fast _in his life_ ), "How thick are your walls, and how intrusive are your neighbors, because that could get real awkward real fast."

George stands with his back against the door and feels light-headed. "Um. I - the walls are pretty thick, I guess? I've never, uh, heard anything. Neighbors - I don't - they - we don't really. Interact."

"Awesome." Alex is already across the room, checking for any gaps in the blinds, adjusting them slightly to better cover the window. He shrugs his bag and jacket off, sets the bag next to the couch, folds the jacket neatly and lays it on a chair, talking all the while. "Item number two: what are your thoughts on making out, because in my experience getting that over with right off the bat cuts the horrible nervous tension like one of those traps, in cartoons, where you tie back a tree and then cut the rope and whatever's in the tree goes flying, you know that trope?"

George tries to answer him and then isn't sure where to start. "How do you _say things_ like that, how does that concept occur to you and then come out of your mouth? I'm - my thoughts on making out are generally positive."

Alex is in front of him so fast George doesn't even really process him crossing the room. "Generally?"

"Positive," George breathes, and then Alex is yanking him down by his _tie_ , and that is – very interesting, in a way that he doesn't have time to think about because they are now, in fact, making out. Like goddamn teenagers. Alex's tongue in his mouth is not a sensation he woke up today expecting to process.

Alex steps back first, takes a deep breath and briefly touches a finger to his own lips, which – George thinks he might not actually be aware of doing. George, on the other hand, is very aware of it.

"If we're still discussing things in terms of cartoon tropes," he finds himself saying, very much against his better judgement, "my eyes might be about to fall out of my head? Holy shit, Alex, you're –"

"Mm!" Alex holds up a hand to stop him, laughing. "Hold on, not that I'm not enjoying what I hope was going to be a compliment, but we should get to item number three before you start applying any adjectives, please."

"Adjectives," George repeats, and then makes a real, honest effort to stop staring at Alex's mouth. It's difficult.

"Couch?" Alex suggests, gesturing over his shoulder.

George follows him numbly, leaves his briefcase in the kitchen, removes his own coat and drapes it over the back of the chair Alex's is lying on.

They sit next to each other and for a moment George thinks they aren't going to touch. Then Alex leans into him, glances up. "This okay?"

"Very. Item number three?"

"Okay. So." Alex clears his throat, toys idly with the hem of his own shirtsleeve. "You said you found my real Twitter so I assume we can skip most of the 'surprise, I'm trans!' conversation, unless you also are, _or_ unless you somehow missed that detail on my bio, in which case, surprise, I'm trans!"

George blinks. "I – no, I didn't miss it. And I'm, uh, not, no."

"Okay." Alex is still fiddling with his sleeve, and he's – practically thrumming with supposedly dispelled nervous tension, and George takes a deep breath and tells himself to get his own head on straight (or, well, uh) because this is _important_.

Alex keeps talking. "Okay, cool, so, what you do still need to know is that I'm not _beautiful_ , I'm not _pretty_ , I'm nobody's _girl_ , and I don't have, like, a ton of sensation in my - my - " he gestures, almost violently, at his chest. " _Here_. I don't - there's not a lot. It doesn't - they don't - _bother_ me much, anymore, terminology hangups aside, so if you're into - anything involving that - area - including the scars - that's fine, it just won't do much for me. Also, and I'm just gonna say this very bluntly and then not look at your face for a second, don't mind me, but, I don't have a dick."

"Okay," George says, instantly, and then gives himself a second to actually take all of that in. He repeats: "Okay. That's - all fine."

Alex lets out a breath and sits up a bit straighter. "Okay. There are more caveats in item number three but I've just thought of item number four, which we definitely need to figure out before this goes any further."

"What is it?"

Alex swallows. "Uh. Who gets to know, if anybody?"

"Schuyler already suspects," George admits. "She - may have tried to warn me against... this, exactly this, exactly what's happening now."

"I don't see a future that involves us successfully hiding this from her and you did say she should always know anything related to the firm, so, okay, Angelica. And I - I - I can't lie to my roommate, I _can't_ , it would - it would fuck up so much shit between us."

He's still pulling at his sleeve. Without really thinking about it, George wraps a hand around his arm. Alex's breath catches, but he doesn't pull away. Actually kind of – sinks back against him. "Okay," George says quietly. "Your roommate."

"He won't tell anyone. He will judge me for the rest of my life, but he won't tell anyone."

"Good. Anyone else?"

"No. You?"

"No. You said something about caveats."

Alex is staring down at George's hand around his wrist. He looks slightly dazed. "Caveats?"

"About - item number three?"

"I - oh. Yeah. Um. Okay, so, if this is gonna be more than a one time thing then at some point we need to like, set down any and all limits we both have, but in the meantime or if this is the _only_ time, the safest thing to do is probably start with just - what, um, everyone thinks of as 'normal' sex." He lifts the hand George doesn't have pinned and actually does finger quotes on the word _normal_. "Unless anyone involved has any hangups about that, which, lucky us, I do - do you?"

"I - No? No. I don't."

"Okay. So. I don't actually _mind_ the configuration of my own genitals, but people in the past have sort of - um - I - I need to know if anything we do involving my junk is going to fuck with your perception of me as a man, which is not a question I expect you to be able to answer right away, and frankly I can get myself off just fine, so what are your thoughts on blowjobs? Receiving, I mean. And/or handjobs, I've been told I'm pretty good at both."

George's brain gets stuck on - on, quite frankly, a _lot_ of that, up to and including the fact that Alex has just said _and/or_ out loud. "I - Um. I'll think - I mean, I don't _think_ it would - but I'll think about, about that first thing, and get back to you, I'm pretty sure it wouldn't, but – uh, blowjobs and handjobs are both. Fine." When, George wonders, was the last time he said either of those words, out loud?

"Okay, great," Alex says brightly. "Item number five then: Condoms, do we need them, do you have them?"

"I'm - I don't - I'm clean. I mean it's been - I was clean last I checked and I haven't been with anyone since then, and there was no particular concern, it was just. Routine."

"Okay, cool, same, we can still use them if you want, you look suddenly very not thrilled by the turn things are taking."

George blinks. "That's - not why. Can I add an item to this list?"

"Of course."

"I - you..." He pinches the bridge of his nose, shuts his eyes. "I'm trying to say this in a way that doesn't sound like a _threat_ , fuck."

"I work for you?"

"Yes. That."

Alex sighs. "I mean this in the nicest and most cause-believing way possible, but – it's not like you run a six million dollar firm with an HR department breathing down our necks and a corporate ladder I'm trying to climb; if you can just confirm this isn't gonna get me unjustly fired or promoted I think we can go forward knowing we're both consenting adults and hash out the details later?"

"You're implying I can afford to fire anyone. Or promote anyone."

"Can you really afford to _not_ fire Lee? _Proconsul_ , seriously."

"Is that really what you want to discuss right now?"

"You didn't actually confirm," Alex points out, nudging his shoulder. "I appreciate the joke but in this situation it's probably best to outright, um." He flounders. "I'm running out of non-sex-related brain power here but you know what I mean, right?"

"I would never let anything that happens between us in this context impact your career," George says firmly, and tries not to think about how many people have probably said that exact sentence to somebody without meaning it.

"Awesome. So." Alex sits up straight, pulls his wrist from George's grip, looks at him. "I'm out of items, then. You?"

"Nothing that jumps to mind."

"So back to - whatever number it was, blowjob or handjob or?"

"Uh." George swallows, mouth suddenly so dry he almost chokes. "Whatever you're more comfortable with, honestly."

"I am _comfortable_ with either," Alex murmurs, leaning forward and pressing a very distracting kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Which one do you _want_?"

"How is it you can make those words sound perfectly acceptable and - and _businesslike_ and when I even think about saying them it sounds - horrible and crude?" Stalling, what? He's definitely not stalling.

Alex laughs against his throat. "Would you like me to rephrase the question?"

"Please."

"Do you want my _hands_ ," and he slides one down George's ribs, down his stomach, tugs at his belt, stops there and leans up to finish the question right against his ear: "or my _mouth_?"

"Mouth," George manages, somehow, to croak, and then: " _Please_."

"Okay."

He lets himself be maneuvered to lie back along the couch, shoulders propped up against the arm of it, shuts his eyes as Alex goes about undressing him from the waist down.

Belt, off, completely. Pants, down, to his ankles. And then Alex's voice: "You good?"

And George thinks about it for a few seconds before he answers. Opens his eyes. "Yeah. You?"

Alex takes a few seconds of his own. "Yeah. Okay then - um, actually." He pulls out his hair tie, shakes his head a few times and then pushes his hair back over his shoulder and puts the tie back in, much looser this time. "You can. Um. Hold on, I just need to–"

He situates himself in what must be an awkward position, kneeling on the floor and bracing one hand against the back of the couch. With the other he takes George's hand, guides it to the top of his head, clears his throat. "Very into hair-pulling, it's cool if you're not but if you don't mind I would - appreciate it."

"I think I can accommodate."

Alex giggles, and then schools his features back into a more serious expression. "I'll swallow, but just, try to warn me, verbally, if you can?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

And then in what feels like one calculated move, Alex has him out of his briefs and into his mouth and George tries not to gasp, he really does. His hand tightens reflexively in Alex's hair, and Alex makes a _noise_ at the back of his throat and George can feel the vibrations and this is –

he clenches his other hand in the fabric of the couch and bites his lip, hard, suddenly much less confident in the sound-dampening quality of his walls and the non-intrusiveness of his neighbors.

Alex pulls off, takes a breath, and there is no real time to miss the contact because then he is licking a steady stripe up his cock and lapping almost experimentally at the head; George's hips twitch involuntarily and Alex gives a self-satisfied hum and takes him back into his mouth. And sucks.

George is going to _die_.

They manage to get some kind of rhythm going, Alex sucking and continuously tonguing at him, and whining high in his throat whenever George remembers to pull his hair or does so involuntarily. Alex stops occasionally to catch his breath, invariably licks up the shaft and teases at the head with his tongue before he takes him back in.

Most of George's focus is going into keeping his hips from bucking, stopping himself from just actively fucking Alex's mouth.

Then Alex splays his free hand between George's thigh and groin, which _does not help_.

"Alex," he warns, gasping. "You might want to - slow down."

Alex pulls off, gulps in ragged breaths, and looks up at him. "'Slow down' like you're not enjoying it, or like you're _really_ enjoying it?"

And George momentarily forgets that questions are things that require answers, because Alex's face – Alex's _face_. His lips are swollen, chin dripping with pre-cum and his own saliva, cheeks flush, pupils blown wide. "Holy shit," George breathes, and then, "the second one, definitely."

Slower is worse. Slower is so much worse. Alex licks up, and then down, then back up and sucks lightly at the tip and George yanks sharply at his hair and has to ball his other hand into a fist to shove against his own mouth, trying to muffle a shout that he can't entirely bite back. "A- _lex_ , okay, slower was a mistake, fuck, _Alexander–_ "

Alex takes the hint, takes him back into his mouth but instead of their earlier rhythm he just _swallows_ and George –

– nearly screams, momentarily loses the battle against his own pelvis, thrusts into Alex's mouth. Alex jerks back a bit but doesn't choke. Or stop.

George just has the presence of mind to choke out, "I'm close, I'm - are you sure you want -"

Alex, evidently, is very sure. He flattens his tongue against the shaft and _sucks_.

George's scream when he comes is entirely noiseless, a stuttering exhale, inhale, exhale, lets go of Alex's hair so he can't unthinkingly pull too hard.

When he opens his eyes, Alex is slumped oddly against the couch, one arm slung over George's legs, covering his face with his other hand.

"Alex?"

"I'm good," he says hoarsely, drops his hand but doesn't quite meet George's eye. "I'm good, I'm just - I know, I know what I said, about - perception, and - but do you think you could - just -"

"Whatever you want," George says quickly, reaching down and trying not to be awkward about tucking himself back into his underwear. His cock is covered in - well, chiefly saliva, but. Clothes can go in the laundry, and couch cushions cannot.

Alex clambers up onto the couch, half straddles him, legs now in a complex arrangement that would definitely trip both of them if they tried to get up. "If you could just, um." He takes George's hand again, guides it this time to his inner thigh, and then – pauses, takes a deep breath – higher. "If you could just," he repeats, eyes closed, "leave your hand here, and not think about what you're not feeling."

"I can do that," George says quietly.

Alex doesn't open his eyes. "Good. Just–" With a bit of careful maneuvering, they just manage to fit both of them lying down on the couch, Alex between George and the back of it.

"Alex," George says cautiously, when it's been about half a minute of nothing - no movement, no words. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Alex says, barely above a whisper, and then, more firmly, "Yes. Yeah, I'm fine. Just – okay, so –"

He starts to move, thrusting against George's hand, face pressed to George's chest. George can already feel his legs shaking.

Alex draws back the small distance that he can, moves his own hand towards his mouth, and then stops. Takes George's other hand and finally looks him in the face. "Can I – ?"

"Whatever you want," George says again, a bit breathlessly. Alex takes three of his fingers into his mouth, flattens his tongue against them, and sucks. And _whines_.

The movement of his hips stutters, and then increases, and then he stops altogether, lets the fingers fall out of his mouth as he clenches around George's other hand and curls in on himself as much as he can in this position, shuddering.

"Shit," he gasps, eventually. "That was very – good, very, but very stupid, on my part, please move your hand or I'll probably freak out, not your fault, my fault, that was good but very –" he pulls in a deep breath. " _Very_ stupid."

George moves his hand and isn't sure where else to put it, shoves it under his own side. "Why was that stupid?" he prompts, gently.

Alex shakes his head. "It's nothing awful, it's just, I'm gonna be paranoid now about how you – see me, for like, I don't know, weeks? Probably? _Shit_ that was _stupid_."

"Can I do anything to help?"

Alex shrugs, buries his face in George's shirt.

"Alex," George says, insistent, and then thinks about that for a second. " _Alexander_."

Alex snorts. "Good thought, yeah, that can't hurt."

"Would it help if I very bluntly told you that I've always seen you as a man, finding your Twitter didn't change that, this didn't change that, and nothing short of you telling me so yourself would change that?"

Alex inhales sharply. "It would. A bit, definitely, maybe a lot."

"Okay. That's the truth."

Alex sits up, breathes out slowly. Shoots him an uncertain grin and says, "So apart from having to talk me down from a freakout, uh, was it good for you?"

George throws his head back against the arm of the couch and laughs. " _Yes_ , I wasn't obvious enough? You?"

"Yep," Alex says, popping the 'p' and losing the uncertainty. He hums thoughtfully. "I did think of a couple things we didn't talk about, though."

"Like?"

"Like the fact that we have work tomorrow."

"Work," George repeats, and the idea refuses to settle in his mind, suddenly a foreign concept entirely. "Right."

"It probably would have been smarter to do this on a Friday. I did, uh," and Alex's face, inasmuch as it had started to return to its usual color, flushes back up, "sort of bring - clothes? To work today, in my computer bag, in case - in case of. This."

George stares at him. "You brought. Clothes."

"I have _done_ the walk of shame," Alex says seriously, "and I am never doing it again."

George switches to staring up at the ceiling. "I spent this morning wondering if you were going to file a restraining order or a harassment suit – I had an email half written in my head all about giving you good references if you wanted to leave. And you brought a change of clothes to work in case we decided to have sex."

Alex pats his knee. "See, we're both very practical!"

Nope, fuck the ceiling. He goes back to staring at Alex, who shrugs. "I also brought pepper spray, if that makes you feel any better about my survival instincts."

"It really does."

"I thought you might be insulted."

" _Alex_ , I am–" he can't do it, he can't say _I am your_ _ **boss**_ ,not here and not now, even and maybe especially when all he means is _I am in a direct position of power over you and your career, please think about these things_ "–not insulted."

"Good. Great. Uh, the clothes," Alex says, and looks down at his own knees. "It's nothing I can go to work in, just jeans and a t-shirt, so I will have to go home..." He looks back up, searches George's face. "...in the morning?"

"In the morning," George echoes, firmly. "I'm not _kicking you out_ _,_ Jesus Christ, Alexander. It's _dark_."

"Not that dark." Alex shrugs. "Not that late. Feels like it, right?"

"It's gotta be at least–" George stretches over the arm of the couch and then stops. "I don't. I don't really want to touch my coat, or my phone, with either hand, right now."

Alex doubles over laughing, and then manages to point in the general direction of the kitchen. George squints at the microwave readout. "8:03? How the hell."

"We did–" Alex tries, wheezes, and doubles over again but still doesn't give up on talking. "We did walk here – super fast – and kind of sped through the talking points. Maybe – Maybe next time we'll both – if there's a next time maybe we'll – both last longer than a couple of horny teenagers." Statement out, he dissolves into helpless laughter.

George rolls his eyes and refuses to be embarrassed. "Yeah, maybe. I'm gonna take a shower, you're welcome to it after. If any of my neighbors have been spying on me long enough to notice my shower running twice I don't want to know about it."

"Good call," Alex manages, and waves him onward.

In his room George grabs boxers, sweatpants and, after a ridiculous couple minutes of self-conscious debate, no shirt, and proceeds back out and to the bathroom. He moves as quickly as possible, partly to conserve water and mostly because the shower is a breeding ground for terrible thoughts and he would like to stay as not freaked out as possible right now.

When he comes back out, Alex is still sitting on the couch, head tipped back, holding as still as George has ever seen him. He looks almost asleep, but then he opens his eyes and stretches. "That was fast."

George shrugs. "Didn't want to run you out of water."

"Thanks." Alex leans over the side of the couch, unzips his bag, and removes a few rolled up bundles. Shakes out the jeans and lays them over the back of the couch, keeps the other two tucked under one arm. "Admittedly, my genius plan for avoiding the walk of shame did not take _wrinkles_ into account."

George laughs. "I'm sure they'll be fine. Towels are under the sink."

Alex hums gratefully and disappears into the bathroom, and George sinks down onto the couch and tries not to think. The water starts up. He closes his eyes.

Time slows to a crawl. He could almost fall asleep like this. Maybe. If there weren't so many worries trying to bite at him, tell him this was a horrible mistake, that he's going to ruin Alex's professional life and what the hell is he even _doing_ , fooling around with someone twelve years younger than him? He'll be forty years old before Alex even hits his thirties.

"Shut up," he growls at his own brain, drags a hand down his face and opens his eyes to glare at nothing. "Just shut up."

Alex emerges in t-shirt and boxers, still toweling his hair dry. "You say something?"

"Just talking to myself."

"Tell yourself to stop worrying, everything's fine." He ducks back into the bathroom and comes back a second later without the towel.

George grimaces. "Won't work, I never listen to me."

Alex grimaces right back. "I know the feeling. Uh, I wasn't sure what to do with my clothes, I put the towel in the hamper but."

George blinks. Clothes. Right. "You can throw them in with my stuff, unless you don't want to."

"As very, very not-sneaky as mixing our laundry probably is, I would really rather not stuff dirty clothes into my computer bag, so, thank you." Alex darts back into the bathroom and then returns to more or less throw himself at the other side of the couch.

"I'm sleeping on this, right?"

With a start, George realizes he hasn't actually thought about sleeping arrangements. "Uh, well–"

Alex laughs. "Yeah, I'm sleeping on this."

"You could–"

"No, no no no, we've done a good job not making things weird so far, let's keep that up."

"I'll get you a blanket," George says faintly, and goes to grab one from his bedroom closet. An extra pillow that he forgot about falls on top of him when he dislodges the blanket, so he grabs that too and heads back.

"This is a spare," he says, "so don't argue about it."

Alex gives him a distracted thumbs up and then returns his attention to his phone, which is buzzing. A lot. "My roommate is yelling at me," he explains, apparently unaffected by this. "But he'll stop if I tell him I'm going to sleep. He's always after me to sleep more."

"Be glad you've got an out. Schuyler's going to kill me."

"Probably," Alex concedes, and then tilts his head. "...Probably me too, really. You'll get it worse because she probably thought you knew better, and she definitely doesn't think that about me."

George drops the pillow and blanket over his phone, figuring that might be the only way to get him to notice either object. "No, she definitely doesn't. Alex – you are actually going to sleep, right?"

"Hm?" He's already dug his phone back out from under the blanket, doesn't even look up. "Yeah, I'm just gonna let John get the worst of this out of his system so he doesn't _actually_ yell at me tomorrow, which would be bad for our cover. Also, chill, it's not even 9."

"Right." George shakes his head, which does nothing to clear it. He needs - to be in his own space, and so does Alex, if his steadfast focus on his phone is any evidence. "I'm just gonna go work on some emails or. Something. If that's okay."

"Yeah, go for it." Alex waves him off, and George retrieves his briefcase from the kitchen counter and heads, after a moment's hesitation, back to his room.

"George."

He stops. Turns around. Alex is looking at him, smiling uncertainly again. "Goodnight?"

George swallows, returns the smile, and watches as the uncertainty again recedes from Alex's expression and posture. "Goodnight, Alexander."

**Author's Note:**

> WELL THAT SURE DID HAPPEN
> 
> is the "explicit" rating too much for this, this is not a question i have ever had to ask myself


End file.
